//There's a time There's a place A change of heart About face//

Leamas stepped into Waverly's office, heralded by the swoosh of the automatic door.

"Ah, Mr. Leamas. I await your report with some interest. Please, sit down."

He took a seat, setting down a folder and looking over his shoulder before speaking. When he was sure that any underlings had long since cleared out, he began.

"Well, during your absence, we had a problem with Mr.s Solo and Kuryakin."

"I take it you read over the notes I left you, John?"

"What? Oh, yes, notes..." He flipped through the file he had been carrying with him. "Solo and Kuryakin... actually, I believe I may have some insight into that."

"Because I had warned you that they were stubborn, and that if one of them was in trouble, it would be exceedingly difficult to persuade the other not to go off on some half-cocked rescue mission." Waverly continued, giving no indication that he had heard the other man.

Leamas cleared his throat. "About that... we discovered that-- well, Solo and Kuryakin were--" He paused, looking for a way to phrase it. "Well, Alex, they were more than partners."

Waverly raised his eyebrows. "Well, naturally the two are close friends. After all, they've been partners for some time. It would be impossible to work together so smoothly if they didn't get along. *You* know how that goes, John."

Leamas sighed, resting his forehead in his hand. "Not just that, Alex. They were-- having relations. Of a sexual nature. With each other."

"And you put them on suspension pending my arrival, I gather?"

"Well, no. We had their memories modified. They know nothing about it, and are under the impression that we removed some sensitive information regarding an affair they had worked on. Need-to-know stuff they didn't need to know."

Waverly stood, his expression steely. "Mr. Leamas, that was not your decision to make. Those were my agents, and any changes were to be made by me. If any vital information was erased, and their effectiveness as a team has changed, I will hold you personally responsible."

"We were very careful. The only memories removed were those of a-- well, as I said, sexual nature, and--"

"You have no way of knowing that, Leamas."

"Well, I thought you would be angry if your top enforcement team was split up, and--"

"You're bloody well right I'd be angry if you split Solo and Kuryakin." Waverly nodded, incredulous. "I'm angry now, for that matter."

"I couldn't allow them to work together, not as they were!"

"You should have put them on suspension, then, Mr. Leamas. I would have dealt with any situation upon my return."

"Sent them home? Given them the chance to skip out, knowing what they know? We could have had a possible defection on our hands! Why, Kurya--"

"Solo and Kuryakin would not have, as you put it, 'skipped out'. They are two of the most loyal and dependable agents I have. They would have awaited my return, spoken with me, and I could have rectified the situation without any problems. And they would *not* have defected. Not from *my* organization, anyway. I don't know what kind of game you were running while I was away."

Leamas reddened. "Alex, they're-- they were, I mean--"

"Just because they may have been in this *purported* sexual relationship--"

"I have proof!"

"They're good men, Leamas. Two of the best, and not just in New York. They have a near-spotless track record, and even with their tendency to pull almost foolish eleventh hour rescues on each others' behalf, they have never compromised UNCLE security, nor needlessly endangered a mission. I will be speaking with them later, and I hope for your sake that they continue to function as well as they did before you went into their brains. You are dismissed."

---/-/---

//This is about Love It's about Forgiveness//

Illya pushed his plate away. "Excellent."

"Thank you." Napoleon preened at the compliment as he cleared the table. "And would you like your next course?"

"Next course? What next course?"

"Me." He grinned, nuzzling his partner's ear. "We don't meet with Waverly until this afternoon, which gives us enough time for a quick roll in the hay before heading off to check into medical."

Illya shook his head. "You really are impossible, Napoleon. Will your shoulder be all right if we do?"

"Yes."

"Seriously, Napoleon. You promise not to do anything that will hurt?"

He took Illya's hand, tugging the smaller man to his feet. "I promise. Come on, your bad timing bought us some extra to ourselves. And we have earned it..."

"*My* bad timing... Well, it will have to be very quick. Our meeting may be postponed, but there will still be more than enough drudge work waiting." Illya agreed, following Napoleon back to the bedroom, where they stripped quickly and efficiently.

"How do you want to do this?" Napoleon asked softly, taking Illya in his arms.

"Expediently..." He murmured, returning the embrace.

"How romantic." Napoleon said dryly.

"And without disturbing your wound..."

"It's just a scratch, Illya."

"Lie down... on your back. Comfortable?" He stood over his partner, watching as Napoleon complied.

"No, 'm in agony. Now get down here." Napoleon smiled, reaching out a hand.

Illya joined him on the bed. He skipped over any foreplay, his hand going straight for his lover's erection, fingers circling the shaft.

"Anything?"

"Isn't it obvious enough for you?" Napoleon laughed softly, raising his eyebrows.

"Memories, I mean. Have I done this for you before?" He dropped his voice to a breathy whisper. "Was it good?"

Napoleon moaned, pushing into Illya's touch. His own hand reached down to return the favour. A few minutes of mutual groping and several passionate kisses was enough to bring them both to completion, and they lay in silence for a moment more.

Illya sat up first, inspecting Napoleon's now-limp penis.

"Can I help you with something?" Napoleon mumbled, peeking out from under the arm he had thrown across his forehead.

"Just re-familiarizing myself." Illya smiled. He reminded Napoleon of a cat, crouching over some just-caught prize. A little smug, a little sly, and even at rest you could see the potential agility in his lithe body, the play of muscles beneath taut golden skin. "I'll go get the washcloth."

"Uh-huh."

---/-/---

Illya hummed quietly to himself as he wrung out the warm, damp cloth. He wiped the sweat and cum from his own body, rinsed the washcloth, wrung it out again, and brought it back to Napoleon, along with a towel.

"New look?" Napoleon asked, raising himself up on one elbow.

"Yes." Illya rolled his eyes. "I plan on going to work with your towel wrapped around my waist. That will-- what is the expression-- fly well?"

"With the women of UNCLE, anyway. But as much as I like this new look of yours, I think it's best worn around the house."

"Maybe someday, when UNCLE introduces a casual dress policy." He snorted.

"Hasn't stopped you from wearing that t-shirt. Not that I'm complaining, as it has a way of hugging every--"

"Do you never give it a rest?" Illya tried to sound exasperated, despite the smile starting at one corner of his mouth. He shook his head, running the cloth over his lover's body.

"How come you get to do me and I don't get to do you?"

"Later, Napoleon. I'm spent." Illya joked.

"Oh, very funny. You know what I mean. The washcloth."

"Because you'll linger." He answered, taking one last admiring glance before unwrapping the towel from his waist and tossing it over his partner. He turned to pick his clothes from the floor, sorting through which suit was clean enough to wear. "Well? Dry off and get dressed. We've got a full day-- a full half-day, at least-- ahead of us. And I *know* you're staring."

Napoleon cleared his throat, dropping his gaze from Illya's backside. "Right. Should we swing by your place for anything?"

"That shouldn't be necessary. I keep an extra change of clothes at work. I'll switch suits after medical."

"Right." He nodded, buttoning a clean shirt and surveying his closet. "What do you think?"

Illya came up to look over Napoleon's shoulder. "The brown one. The grey doesn't do you justice."

"Thank you, Illya. I don't know how I got on without you." He kissed the end of his lover's nose.

"Oh, please. I have no sense of style, I just like the way the brown suit fits you, and the colour is particularly pleasing. I'm sure all of your suits are fashionable, they just don't bring out your eyes the way-- eyes..."

"Who said I was talking about your fashion sense? I just don't know how I got on without you. Or off." Napoleon pulled the suit down, laying the jacket out on the bed as he stepped into the pants.

"That's why," Illya whispered.

"What's why?" Napoleon asked, looking up.

"Your favourite colour. Blue. You said it was because of my eyes."

He stood, pulling Illya into a quick hug and dropping the socks he had been unrolling. "That sounds about right. You've got gorgeous eyes. Do you remember what I said about your hair?"

"No, do you?"

Napoleon fastened his belt and went back to the socks. "No, but I imagine it was poetic. You've got gorgeous hair, too."

Illya grabbed a tie from the rack in the closet. "Here, I'll help you with this."

Napoleon sat still obediently as the other man knelt behind him on the bed. "Thank you. Very nice."

"Don't mention it. Come on, grab your jacket. Work."

They headed down to Illya's car in a comfortable silence, which was maintained until about halfway through the drive.

"Hey, Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Leamas is still around?"

"I don't know... why?"

"I was just wondering if I could kill him without being seen. I mean, would anybody even miss him? We could pin it on THRUSH, if someone found the body."

"Patience, Illya mine. Revenge is a dish best served cold."

"It is not. Hawaiian pizza as breakfast is a dish best served cold, revenge is a dish best served by me."

"Well, it's also a dish best served with public humiliation and lasting repercussions, so hold off on killing him, and try to think of ways to destroy his life."

Illya nodded solemnly. "By the time I am through, he will wish I had killed him."

"That's the man I fell in love with."

---

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